Chapter Text
Rashta inhaled deeply, her heart pounding. Never had she dared to imagine standing so close to this symbol of her hatred, the source of misery for countless voiceless souls. This place, the dream of every woman born into privilege, was her nightmare. She instinctively reached for the pendant that hung around her neck, the cool metal a comfort against her fevered skin It was a gift from Dartha, her dearest friend, who had bestowed it with a sad smile and the whispered words, "For protection." when Rashta confided her destination. Beneath her garments, a mechanical weapon, crafted over countless sleepless nights, lay concealed. If the worst happened, she would meet her end in a blaze of glory. But she prayed it wouldn't come to that. She wasn't driven by vengeance or retribution; her purpose was to save a life.
As the imposing doors swung open, a wave of animosity washed over her. Hateful stares, sharp as shards of ice, pierced her back, each one a venomous reminder of her lowly status. A hush fell over the opulent hall, the silence thick with anticipation. Then, a voice, clear and resonant, echoed through the cavernous space, shattering the tense quiet. "Presenting Rashta," it proclaimed, "Concubine to his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Sovieshu Vict.”
10 Years Earlier
A pair of blue eyes observed a ragged young girl, no more than six years old, struggling to draw water from the well. Malnutrition made her appear even younger, her tiny frame swallowed by oversized, tattered clothes. Her body was a canvas of colorful bruises, a testament to her suffering. The only beauty she possessed was her striking silver hair. As she strained to lift the heavy bucket, it slipped from her grasp, spilling water onto the ground.
"You imbecile!" a young, furious voice shrieked.
A red-haired girl, about the same age, stormed towards her, her short curls bouncing with rage. She grabbed a fistful of the girl's silver hair, eliciting a cry of pain.
"Dummy, useless idiot! Father is right. You can't do anything!"
The girl sobbed uncontrollably, further enraging her tormentor.
"Shut up!" she screamed, striking her. The beating continued until the red-haired girl's fury was spent.
"Clean that up, and get more water before I tell Father!" she commanded.
The girl departed, a smug smile on her face, happily humming a tune. The silver-haired child remained, trembling, as an older boy emerged from the shadows. He had witnessed the entire scene but hadn't intervened.
Crouching beside her, he offered comfort. "There, there, Rashta. You know Libetti gets angry sometimes. Don't worry, I'll talk to Father so he won't be too angry."
The child, her face stained with tears, managed a weak smile as the boy handed her a handkerchief.
"Thank you, Alan," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Alan, without offering any assistance, smiled back and walked away.
A woman, observing from a distance, smiled.
Yes, she thought. That girl would do nicely.